Vongola
by KusajishiFukutaicho
Summary: The intricate gold lettering carries years upon years of blood shed to protect the silence. No one remembers that the founders had borne the name to protect, not to kill. PENDING DELETION.


**_Here in 2012 I look back at my work then and I want to bury my head in a huge bucket of sand. Gosh, my fic is so embarrassing! (Not that it's any better now, but it was way, way worse, if you get what I mean...? And this was one of them...^^;) I want to delete this, but...this has a really high review count for some inexplicable reason. (I still say that the readers are nice. Look at this! How could you read this and say such nice things to me? I'm so shocked. *grins*) Sooooo...maybe dear reader, you could just close it now and not read this embarrassing and disgusting piece of work? Yes. That is my advice. Proceed further at your own risk. XD_**

Disclaimer : The only thing I own is this plot and this fanfiction:D

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_Vongola_

Vongola. The epitome of Italian mafia. For beyond its mandatory meaning of clams, Vongola represented a group of hard driven people who were sworn to their faith.

Their Boss, Vongola _Decimo_.

A practically unheard of teenager before the death of the Ninth, Sawada Tsunayoshi paved a bloody path for him and his precious _famiglia_ to survive under the cruel face of mafia.

It is no wonder, no one associates Vongola with its real meaning anymore.

However, as one cringes with fear upon hearing that _name_, no one remembers Vongola, 400 years ago. One Italian young man dreamed great dreams; Dreams to protect the people and the ones he loved from the cold and hard hands of mafia. So bent was he on achieving his goal, that without thinking, he dragged numerous others into this business as well. In this strange array of people was a priest, a mafioso, a musician, a military man, a landowner and one of the police.

Most notable would be the red-haired gunslinger who had been from a rival Family; for this was the first member of this young man's Family, and he stayed loyal to his Boss for the rest of his remarkably short life.

Together, the young man and his best friend set about to build this ambitious dream.

The makings of such a vigilante group saw through rain and storm, though eventually breaking through to witness a clear blue sky. Then, as one looks upon Vongola today and the Vongola way back then, one couldn't help but wonder what the founders of Vongola were thinking as they laid down every brick and stone that was to become this prestigious _famiglia._

_-X-_

_And the story brings us back to approximately 400 years ago, on a bright and cheery Italian morning where a silent brooding child was about to meet the boy who would become his best friend in future._

_Sicily, Italy._

A ten-year-old boy wandered through the vast yard belonging to the wealthy Montre family, running a hand carelessly through his maroon hair as he walked.

He strolled, his eyes taking in the beautiful yet desolate sight of the brown leaves of the fall flying in the wind with a cold, detached kind of interest. He gave his surroundings minimal attention, casting a cursory glance on the huddled over figure under a tall bare tree.

His eyes filled with laziness that came with boredom and the corners of his mouth turned down with slight disgust.

People should not be despised simply because they were born weak. One could not chose their parents, and they certainly had no decision over what kind of family they were born into. However, man had above all been given the ability to circumvent fate, as witnessed by numerous examples throughout history, and if they still did nothing, they are indeed, worthy of the insults thrown at him.

G hated these kind of people the most.

The boy sobbing silently had to be one of those. Apparently, the sobbing boy, Giotto as he was called, was born from the 2nd wife of the Montre Boss, an illegitimate son. Because of his status, he was often laughed upon and bullied by other members of the family. Overshadowed by his elder half-brother and sister, his father completely disregarded this son, offering no protection from the hurling insults that came his way. As it turned out, the boy crying by himself, with no one to comfort him, was a common sight.

His was a truly pitiful story, but G didn't give it a damn.

_So what?_

Okay, _so_ he was born with a low status.

If he wasn't so busy submerging himself in self-pity that no one was on his side, he could have won respect through hard work. There is nothing impossible in the world. Just whether you have the will and determination to fight to the end. In mafia, there is no such thing as love or sympathy. No one would take pity on you simply because you were born pitiful. Rather, they would expect you to do better, because you had the motivation to do so.

G's father had been a traitor to the Montre family and he had been forced to watch his parents executed when he was only eight. Ever since that moment on, something in him snapped and he understood. There was no place for tears. He had wiped his eyes dry and glared defiantly at the people approaching to end his young life.

And the Boss appraised the cold boy and found in those eyes a burning will to survive, as well as a merciless gleam that spoke not of revenge, but that he would kill anyone who stood in his way.

_Interesting,_ he decided.

_He might come in useful in future._

G had been given a gun and basic training on how to use it. In the following year, he became the youngest member of the Montre family to take another's life.

(It was purely by accident added with touches of anger that he lodged a bullet in his former tutor's chest.)

But that didn't matter. He had no need for relationships.

(It wasn't like that man cared much for him, anyway.)

From that incident, he gained a blood red scar at the side of his face, and with fumbling hands, he kept his gun. He had fallen onto his knees, shaking badly. When he eventually got to his feet, he had _laughed._

(If anyone else came, he'll just shoot them down, _one_ by _**one.**_ )

It was perhaps inevitable that he grew more and more detached as his hands became increasingly stained with the blood of others...

"Che."

Giotto lifted his face and their eyes met for a second before G turned his face away in distaste. Aggravated by the obvious display of scorn, Giotto ran towards the apathetic boy and grabs his arm roughly, jerking the latter to face him.

"What do you mean by hat? Why are you looking down upon me too? You of all people have no right to, y-you _traitor_!" The sandy-haired boy burst out agitatedly, grasping the other's collar out of impulse.

G's reply had been cold and biting.

"_You are in this state because you choose to wallow in self-pity and do nothing."_

He calmly freed his collar and turned to walk away, leaving Giotto to stare in shock at what his hands have done.

"_You have nobody but yourself to blame. You're weak."_

He walked away without turning back.

Giotto only stared, mouth agape at the retreating back, seemingly not comprehending those hurtful words. Then, after a long while, a lone tear slipped out of the corner of his eye, followed by another, then another.

Soon his face streamed with tears and he mumbled, lowering his head in shame, "He's right…"

After a great deal of sniffling, however, those disgraceful tears were wiped away and he looked to the sky, his red and swollen eyes shining with renewed determination.

"I'll prove to him I'm not weak, Mother."

_-X-_

It was 2 years before the two crossed paths again, this time at the funeral of Giotto's half-brother. Many died at this sudden attack, including a lady that G had come to view as an elder sister. The 2 frequently went on missions together and the lady had slowly warmed his heart from the inside out. He had been starting to feel again…When _this_ happened. The lady had even blocked off the personal attacks hurled at him repeatedly, even though he had stammered to her red-faced that it was alright.

At the funeral, Giotto recognised the maroon hair with a jolt of clarity. The boy kept his head down throughout the whole of the ceremony and when it was over, he stumbled out numbly.

_Even though he's a jerk,_ a worried Giotto conceded, _he's still pitiful._

So he ran after that lonely back.

He was surprised to find him in a little graveyard filled with broken slabs of stones arranged messily, looking for the world like they had been erected by hand. It was to a fair amount of shock to discover that the names engraved on the nearest tombstone were the _traitors'_ names. He turned his head towards the passive boy who was carving onto a huge slab of stone with a knife.

His eyes widened in alarm as G left a messy and faint line of words on the stone and then tried to heave it up.

"What are you doing?" He cried out in alarm.

"I'm marking the grave of yet another person who died because she cared for me." He had lost the edge his voice had, but instead sounded forlorn and lost, those small shoulders burdened by years of guilt.

Giotto caught the note of bitterness and guilt in the other's voice and he kept silent, feeling his tighten as G, after much effort, finally manged to drag the stone next to that which bore his parents' names.

_Was this really the same person who told me 2 years ago that I was weak?_

He realized then, that the boy before him had probably never been as strong as he claimed. How was it that he managed to hide all that brimming emotions deep within him? He felt nothing but sympathy as he extended a hand to tap those heavy shoulders.

"_Don't touch me!"_ G snarled and his eyes shone with cold fury. "_I don't need your sympathy."_

Giotto only watched the boy who might have been his friend sadly. His grip was firm when he grasped shoulders as small and thin as his, his expression serious.

"You told me 2 years ago that I was a weakling and told me not to wallow in self-pity. Now 2 years later, I return your words to you! Look at you now. What you're doing, don't you think you are letting Signorina Ciara down?"

G spun around to give Giotto an icy glare and stalked off, head high in the air.

_-X-_

_The strangest thing would be how this little conversation drew the two closer and the two were well on their way to becoming friends. Maybe that's how fate works. The more impossible it seemed, the higher the probability it'll work out._

_A year later…_

"_Would you stop following me around? It's getting annoying."_ The maroon-haired teen whispered crossly at the sandy-haired teen following him at his heels.

"I can't help it, father told me to learn from you…and anyway, you're my friend, G, so you'll help me, right?"

"_I don't remember becoming your friend. Besides__, there's nothing to learn from me. Go away."_ G increased his pace and walked even faster.

"T-That was mean, G…" Giotto smacked his friend on the head, hard, and G's incredulous expression was hilarious.

"_Giotto!" _If that exasperation was anything to go by, it was that the redhead was ready to explode. Any minute.

"You've finally said my name right!" And Giotto's glee was evident.

G only muttered under his breath, presumptuously something insulting. Giotto looked about ready to protest-G pulled his friend behind him none too gently and pulled out his gun, his expression severe.

"G-G?"

_Bang._

Giotto turned around and looked at the dead hitman on the floor in horror.

"_At least be more aware of your surroundings, moron! Hanging around you must have had a negative effect on me. I should have sensed the hitman immediately…"_ G frowned.

"Well, there's always G to protect me…"

"_I'm not almighty and I won't always be around, you fool! And you're the successor to this family, for goodness sake! How can you be so utterly clueless?"_ Then the maroon-haired teen's expression suddenly darkened.

"_Come on out, all of you. I know you're there."_ He stated coldly.

Then numerous hitmen appeared out of nowhere to surround them.

G cursed softly. "_Giotto, run now! I'll catch up with you later."_

But there was nowhere to run; They were utterly surrounded.

After a long terse silence, Giotto spoke up, in a serious voice never like before. "You're here for me, aren't you? Let my friend go."

G looked to him in slight disbelief before hissing, "_What are you talking about, idiot? Do you want to die?"_

The sandy-haired boy gave a serene smile.

"Nope. But I don't want to drag you into the mud…don't worry about it. I've worked out something a few years back. I'll manage just fine."

Then without giving his friend any time to express how he felt that this is clearly _suicide_, he looked forward to the enemy and a bright orange flame burst forth at his forehead. It was so pure, so blinding, that it scorched him. G watched his friend fight using hand-to-hand combat quietly, calmly handling the other attackers that Giotto couldn't handle.

_He really is something, isn't he?_

He never expected the quiet boy he knew from way back then to become who he is today. He might not exactly be brimming with confidence, but he certainly is much more outspoken as compared to the brooding boy he first met. As the last man fell, the flame extinguished and Giotto fell. G caught him, worry written all over his face. At that single moment his soft, hidden side shone through as he checked his friend's pulse and was immensely relieved to find a steady one.

_He's worn out_.

As realization hit him, he shook his head wryly.

He'll properly question him later.

_-X-_

_Bringing our stage a few years forward…_

Two 16-year-olds lay on the ground littered with the curled up leaves of the fall. Around them the air was bathed in a flurry of colours, yellow, brown, red…green even.

"_Ne_, G."

Giotto leaned back lazily, looking to the beautiful autumn sky and the addressed teen frowned at the former's obvious Japanese way of speaking.

"_What?"_

"If I were to set up a _vigilante _group, would you help me?" Giotto's eyes had a somewhat dreamy quality to them as he looked to his friend expectantly.

He was so caught up in his reverie that he didn't catch the sudden flash of sadness in his friend's face.

G only sighed. He wouldn't ever admit it, but he knew the sandy-haired teen better than anyone else; Giotto hated violence, and he hated watching innocent blood spilled. Needless to say, his greatest wish was to leave from Mafia.

_But I am a Mafiosi too. Do you despise me like you do with the others?_

Although he wouldn't come out and say it, but G was grateful to have such a friend, to melt his icy mask and make him feel human again. So he told himself, whatever _he_ wishes to do, I'll follow him till the end. Only not _this._ **_Damn._** He couldn't, and _wouldn't_ help his friend get tangled with the very thing he wishes to escape from. To see that naïve dream splinter and fall would be most painful.

_A vigilante group?_

Don't be silly. No matter what it is, he must know that a vigilante group will eventually join the Mafia; For survival, it would be necessary. It was strange sometimes, how you are played into fate's hands that the more you want to run away from something, the deeper you are wound within it.

G gave a bitter smile.

He'd much rather help Giotto destroy the Morte family later. He knew, over the years they have spent together growing up, that Giotto had the makings of a great leader, a great Boss; The only problem lay in that he was unwilling.

"_Vigilante? Don't be silly. The both of us...we are from mafia, don't ever forget that."_ G said quietly, his eyes darkened, stained by the many years killing in order not to be killed, the light that was supposed to belong to an innocent child long since tainted by the sins and bloodshed belonging to mafia.

"You're such a wet blanket, G! You're supposed to be my best friend!" Giotto gave a pout and almost immediately received a hard whack on the head.

"_Don't try that with me. It won't work."_ G replied crossly. His fists tightened and he fought the urge to give another useless sigh. How was he expected to crush his hope when he was like this? That stupid fool only made things more complicated.

Oblivious to G's turmoil, Giotto felt warm on the inside.

_He didn't deny that he's my best friend._

-X-

It was when he was 18 that Giotto realizes his dream - alone.

He gathered some people and set about protecting the people_ - his _people.

After each victory, he would feel that swell of pride in him that told him he did it. At the same time he felt a little empty…G hasn't left the Morte family with him. True, he felt a little betrayed, but they were still friends, weren't they?

Giotto found himself very afraid that he'll lose this precious friendship.

Looking back, G was the first to reach out to him and offer him warmth and care, even as subtle as it was. He presented it in all forms and angles, all carefully concealed under that short-tempered exterior. Giotto had often felt touched as he realizes the true meaning behind all those arguments they've had.

_He cared, but didn't want to show it outright._

Giotto didn't know what he was to do if he lost such a friend.

As he thought about all these, he never realized that he was straying away from the path he chose and drawing closer to the path he had sworn never to set foot on. Into the welcoming arms of mafia. The vigilante wasn't formally set up yet, it was just him and a few others, taking action. However, as his comrades were getting killed one by one, and when he was the only one left, he found himself lost and bewildered.

_How did it all happen?_

So a few days later saw the two figures standing in the rain as it poured down ferociously, drowning out all other sound.

"_Why?"_ Giotto rebuked quietly.

"Why do you obstruct me in all that I wish to do?"

G was silent, his eyes staring forward to meet Giotto's earnest brown ones and yet seemingly past him.

"I know that you've gained quite a high standing in the Morte family, but you don't have to do this!" The lack of response only fueled the latter's anger and he grasped the other's collar tightly like he did many years ago.

"_Why do you betray me?"_ Still G kept quiet as Giotto hurled accusations at him.

Then the sandy-haired let go limply as he sank to his knees.

"Help me, will you? Please, G, I beg of you…"

G couldn't tell if the liquid on his friend's face was tears or rain. But it didn't really matter.

Because he found that he didn't have the heart to say no, this time.

-X-

The following year saw the formation of the vigilante group that was to become the roots of Vongola. At first it was just the two of them, but as more gathered within their midst, G found that besides leading them alongside Giotto, he had to train them.

A certain newcomer caught his attention; one Asari Ugetsu who was a close friend of Giotto and from whom the latter had learnt his Japanese from. He had nothing much against him, really, if only the latter would stop being easy-going and naïve. He acted as if life consisted only of rainbows and butterflies. _Ugh._ He'll have to hammer into his mind that this kind of attitude will get him killed in mafia.

And it was disconcerting to see not one, but _two_ Giottos around.

If anything, it gave him a headache every time.

-X-

Giotto was turning 22 when he finally lost sight of what he was doing.

He did some long and hard thinking and that's when he realizes. He hasn't been able to run away all these while, but instead headlong into mafia. Recalling the scene years ago, of the 2 figures lying on their backs during fall only served to make him understand how foolish he had been, all along.

_How could I have been so foolish? G had been trying to help me…_

In his painful realisation, he locked himself up in his room, wishing that there was something to do, something to pull himself out of the mess he had fallen into. And when a grouchy and short-tempered G came knocking on his door the next day, he beckoned him in.

As the door clicked softly behind the maroon-haired man, a deafening silence ensued.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" The subtleties never escapes G's sharp gaze, it seemed.

And Giotto, looking into those subtly concerned eyes, could help but burst out, "Oh, G…I'm sorry."

Out of impulse, Giotto wrapped his arms around his friend who stiffened visibly, though he was unresisting, rooted to the ground.

"G…can you become my Right Hand?" G sighed as a shadow came over his eyes and he pulled away.

"Can I say no?" He retorted gruffly.

Flinching at the other's almost tearing face, his voice softened considerably. "You finally see it, Giotto?"

Giotto nodded dumbly.

"Are you sure you want this?"

He gave a bitter laugh. "What can I do? There are too many people involved, I have to answer to them, G."

G took in the change in his friend, now _Boss_ with a heavy heart and gave a sad smile. "Maybe you're right."

"Let's call it Vongola, G. The mafia family that we have founded together."

G raised an eyebrow in question at the...very (un)awe-inspiring name.

But Giotto only nodded, a painfully fake smile adorning his face, and G sighed, deciding not to ask. "Vongola it shall be then."

He turned to go.

"Oh yes." He spun around.

"The next time you decide to hug me, you'd better be _prepared_ to have a bullet to your head." He snarled, a steely glint to his eyes.

"I'm _straight_, for goodness sake!"

The door slammed, and Giotto, his troubles temporarily forgotten, was left to stare at the wood, dumbfounded.

"...did he just imply that I'm not?"

-X-

It was sometime later that Giotto introduced the Vongola rings and the dying will flame. They each awakened their own flame and as Giotto recruited more _guardians_ to his family, G hadn't really taken a liking to any of them. Asari may have caught his eye, but to respect him? He'd die before he admitted it. But the flautist had grown, alright.

He never asked how the Japanese became friends with Giotto, though. (He had a feeling that he wouldn't want to know.)

He wasn't surprised that Giotto has touched yet another soul, after all.

-X-

Giotto was approaching 27 when he took his 1000th innocent life.

"_You actually kept count?"_

The sandy-haired man laughed softly, with a tinge of sadness. "I'm just keeping count of the number of lives I have ruined and the number of sins I would have to repent for when I go to hell, after all."

G kept silent, taking note of the guilt lining such a young handsome face, making it look old._ When was it_, he wondered, _that your purity began to decay and get stained by the bloodshed of mafia?_

_We're all sinners who don't deserve to be forgiven._

He has long since accepted that fact when he stepped into mafia, but he felt sad that his friend was now one of them. He found his heart heavy at the fact that he could do nothing to return his friend to the cheerful and carefree boy he was back then.

-X-

Giotto was 30 when he married an Italian woman. Oh, she was a beautiful one(and a wonderful wife), but there was no love between the two of them. Instead, his wife loved his cousin and he loved his cousin's wife, a demure Japanese woman. It was a complicated affair.

The product of this loveless marriage was a lovely baby boy. G had married a silver-haired Italian beauty a few years ago, and they were deeply in love. Giotto noted in interest the marked change in his best friend as he became a husband, and consequently a father. How he shed away his cold exterior like an old skin and brimmed with love and care for his family.

Giotto was vastly entertained, of course.

It amused him.

-X-

Giotto was 35 when he had to bury someone he loved, very much. He wept bitterly, and he found that nothing-_nothing_-ever made up for the emptiness that came about when you lost something precious.

There had been growing tension between him and his cousin because of various reasons, though the main being the latter's strong desire to become the Boss of Vongola because over the years, Vongola had grown into an influential family in Italy and every man coveted for that _seat._

Giotto knew of his cousin's wild ambition, but he did nothing.

Because he had thought, _let him have it._

_I never wanted anything to do with it in the first place, anyway._

If his cousin came to ask him for it, he would have happily given it all up to him.

(Like G said so many years ago, Giotto was too naïve.)

In mafia, there was no win-win situation for you and your enemy. If you let him off now, you're bound to regret it later - He paid dearly for his mistake. Giotto's cousin had launched a sudden attack and Giotto and G found themselves severely outnumbered.

Two against…perhaps a few hundred?

It was a matter of time before either of them fell. G had seen a bullet coming and instinctively reacted to protect his friend.

"G!" Giotto cried out in horror as the maroon-haired man stumbled and fell backwards.

He caught his friend and his eyes widened at the gaping wound on the latter's chest.

"G, this isn't funny. Don't you _dare _sleep. If you abandon me now, I won't ever_ forgive_ you."

But G's eyes were closing, slowly losing their intensity, becoming unfocused. Giotto panicked, and his grip on his friend tightened, hoping to ground him. The eyes, closed at half-mast, wearily opened again.

A thin trail of blood flowed out from his lips and he croaked, "Stop yelling, moron. I can hear you."

The man who was to become Vongola the second, Giotto's cousin gave a cruel smirk as he raised his hand for his men to stop.

He knew that victory was near. After all, with the death of the Right Hand who founded Vongola with him, it was unlikely that he would be able to continue.

(It was more effective than anything.)

"G, don't die please!" Giotto begged, half-kneeling on the ground as he held his friend nervously, desperate tears leaking out of his eyes.

G gave a derisive snort which cost him as he began to cough out blood.

"You think I have a choice? Che, you're crying _again_. Already 35 and still such a crybaby. Are you even a man…?" His voice grew progressively weak.

Giotto gripped him even tighter, raw fear abound in those wide brown eyes. "No, wait. Stop talking, G. You won't die, I promise. You can scold me later, just-"

G sighed. "Were you even listening when I told you the last time that I won't always be around? I'm human too."

"No, you won't-"

"Will you let me finish? I don't have much time." He rasped crossly, his voice softening considerably, "Giotto you only have two choices. You know that. Destroy him or give Vongola to him. Whatever it is, seek your happiness, alright? You certainly deserve to be happy…"

G's voice gradually drifted off and he closed his eyes with a soft sigh.

"G…_G! G, wake up! _ _You aren't supposed to die._ You still have your wife and children! Are you going to abandon them too? What am I to say to them? _Don't leave me here….."_ Giotto shook him repeatedly, but to no avail.

The maroon-haired man refused to wake.

"G…" Giotto's eyes filled with anguish as he shakily got his feet, the limp body tight in his arms. He looked to his cousin before him and his eyes grew cold and hard.

"Take it. Take Vongola as you please. I'm going to Japan with my _love_ and G's family. Lay a hand on any of my _family_, and I'll make sure that you regret you were ever born." Then he turned to the men around them who were shocked into silence at his decision.

"G and I, we were the ones who founded Vongola together and took in every single one of you and trained you. I hope that you are very pleased with yourselves, now that you have returned kindness with cruelty, you _ingrates_." His voice was icy cold as he stalked off, much like how G had so many years ago, just that this time it was _his_ heart that was bleeding.

-X-

How he got back to the Vongola headquarters he had no idea. The only time that registered in his numbed mind was _his _wife's loud choked sob. He laid his friend on the ground with touching gentleness even as she flung herself at her dead husband, filled with fierce disbelief at the sight before her. She couldn't be consoled, weeping uncontrollably as she cast him accusing glances.

And as her slender fingers ran over the spot from which blood was gushing out, she gave an anguished wail and buried her head in that still, unmoving chest.

G's pair of twins, having just turned 5, and not understanding the severity of the situation, repeatedly attempted to wake their father, not understanding why when he didn't. So they turned to Giotto with wide innocent eyes and asked, "_Zio Giotto, why isn't Papa waking up?"_

Giotto felt a spasm of guilt running through him as he attempted to pull off a lie.

He started with much difficulty, "He…he has gone to a place far away…"

The two innocent faces filled with confusion and looked from their weeping mother to their still father to…Giotto.

"_But Papa's right here!"_ His little girl piped up, her pigtails bouncing as she stared back and forth.

Giotto turned his face away in shame. He knelt down to the aggrieved woman and whispered an apology with pain-filled eyes.

"I…I'm sorry…"

Immediately, he was met with blazing eyes from which was leaking out furious tears.

"_Don't talk to me now, "_she forced out between gritted teeth, "_or else I might really kill you."_

Giotto felt a painful tug at his heart.

_**I…I'm sorry…**_

He could only repeat it over and over again, wishing for forgiveness that he knew he wasn't deserving of.

-X-

Many said that Vongola the second wrestled Vongola from Vongola the first through sheer force. It's not necessarily wrong, but they have to get something right.

Vongola the first _willingly_ gave it up to Vongola the second. Because he found no more purpose in continuing. So he sought instead for happiness, like his friend told him to.

He found it, eventually.

Vongola Primo lived the last 30 years of his life in bliss and without mafia.

As he breathed his last, his eyes widened ever so slightly. Then he smiled, reaching a pale ghostly hand towards the maroon-haired translucent figure. As his hand was held in that familiar firm grasp that he had missed so much, Giotto felt his eyes swarm with warm tears.

"_G…"_

"_Che."_

Not caring about any repercussions that might follow, Giotto enveloped his friend in a tight hug. Instead of shooting him like he promised he would, G relaxed and let that sobbing man hug him as he pleased. After all, for all the latter had done for his wife and kids, he supposed, a hug probably isn't too much to ask for.

Their surroundings changed rapidly to a white space with empty chairs, six to both the right and the left and one at the extreme end. Giotto never looked up, all the time letting out his regret and grief pent-up over the last 30 years.

Asari watched this scene at the side, a smile on his face. He really couldn't blame the First's childish behavior before his Right Hand, after all, out of all of them, he had been the first to go, and yet he was the most important.

G turned his face away, a long-suffering look on his face, somehow wishing he had his gun with him. Which reminds him…_he did._ So with an evil grin on his face, he swiftly raised his gun and pointed it at Giotto's head, which silenced him immediately.

"I came _especially_ to fetch you and all I get is this long _rant_?" G snapped irritably, pointing the barrel of the gun at between Giotto's eyes.

Giotto trembled, scrambling away from his irate friend immediately.

_He had forgotten how short-tempered his friend could be._

G spun around crossly and begain to walk towards the chairs.

"Vongola will flourish for another twelve generations, ending with the thirteenth. These are the chairs for the Bosses who are yet to come."

Giotto looked down upon himself and realized that he was in the cloak he had worn as Vongola Primo, his gloves on his hands and in the form of himself in his twenties. Following G's gesture, he went forward and took the seat of the _throne_. G sank down onto one knee gracefully and bowed his head low in respect.

In a soft silky voice, he intoned, "_Vongola maggio fiorire per le generazioni a venire, Vongola Primo."_

-X-

_And so ends the glorious tale of Vongola the first and his Right hand._

_Oh pardon me, for 'glorious' was inappropriate._

_Since in mafia there was no glory._

_Only bloodshed, sacrifice and deep friendships that will last for a long, long time._

_**Owari**_

* * *

Translation : May Vongola flourish for many generations to come, Vongola Primo(I took this from google translate, so pardon me for all the grammar mistakes which I'm sure it is filled withXD)

A/N: *nervously* mkay, I know I said that I wasn't going to be around for a _long_ while, but I-I juz got incredibly stressed and needed to write sth. I'm sry that I can't update 'choice' cuz I'll only mess it up writing in this kinda mood...Don't murder me, please...and reviews are much appreciated!~*flees*


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